


Eiffel Tower

by KorrohShipper



Series: Project Peggy [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Day 2, F/M, Paris Liberation, Postcards, Steggy - Freeform, Steggy Week 2019, World War II, steggyweek2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 13:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: "A deal, then. Show me the postcards, and I’ll take you out for dancing, yes?”





	Eiffel Tower

**Author's Note:**

> **Day 2 (Tuesday): Headcanons and Favorite Moments**
> 
> Headcanon: Steve has an artist's block and Peggy saves the day.

Steve gazed at the iron structure, his eyes squinted at the glare of the sun, but he smiled, nonetheless, as he took a pencil from his pouch and began to sketch.

He and the Howling Commandos had been loaned to the French Resistance to help push back the German forces who had overcome the city while the _S.S.R._ dealt with the Jewish prisoners and helped liberate concentration camps scattered within the area. 

Paris’ liberation had been a long and difficult campaign. Steve saw death in quick blurred movements, but when the guns fell silent on German surrender, when he saw Peggy in the corner of his eyes, panting as the sub-machine gun lolled to her side, a small, tired smile playing on her lips and her eyes held a gleam of hope that shone brighter than any fire of determination that burned within soldier's hearts.

It was worth it. Steve knew, that from the cheers of a thousand Parisians who took to the streets, that the victory was well-won. But the smile she had when the German soldiers were driven out, his butterfly-filled stomach and racing heart decided that the incentive of her happiness was priceless.

And when Steve saw the Eiffel, standing proud and tall as if it was a symbol of the strength and resilience of the French, of the Allied forces, his eyes sparked at the idea of capturing its beauty—

Only he couldn’t get it _right_.

On a folded piece of paper, eraser marks had marred the surface. His head was bent down and his eyes darted between the card and the tower. His chest deflated when he begrudgingly began to rub the butt of his eraser against the paper again.

He gave a breath of air. Nothing felt right.

“Is everything alright, Captain?”

A shadow appeared near the bench. His head whizzed around and he saw, in the afternoon sun, Peggy Carter beside him, her red heels clicked on the pavement, a pair of shades hanging closely by her nose before she tucked them away in her purse.

Immediately, he brushed off the bundled up flakes of eraser dust and beamed at her. “Peggy, didn’t know you were here.” His voice shook, and he said it just a tad bit fast, but she smiled at him nonetheless. The same heart-stopping and and dazzling smile she gave him the day he brought down the pole at Camp Lehigh and got the ride back to the training grounds.

“Colonel Phillips had dismissed me for the afternoon, said that I worked too hard, however that may be.” He gave her a knowing smile, but she waved it off with one hand. Her gaze landed on the park bench he had set up camp in. “May I?”

He side stepped to pick the pouch up and gestured towards the open space. “Yeah, sure.” He replied.

Peggy sat down stared at the Eiffel, prompting to take the spot next to her. She was silent, not a peep from her, and when he turned to his side, to check of Peggy was still sitting next to him— _an effort to calm his jittery nerves_ —everything clicked into place. Suddenly, every glance he gave in her direction, the light beamed from up above and it seemed like even the skies agreed with her presence. With every stroke, the angle seemed right.

Peggy, in his drawings, felt right.

The pencil rattled against the bench and he smiled, Peggy completely unaware. “Uh, have you been here before?” he began roughly, his eyes darting between the tower and the woman beside him.

She chuckled, a melodic sound that tugged on his heart. The lead swerved through the paper and a vague image was born. Steve wanted to capture her laughter if he could. “Once. As a child, with my family.”

He stared at her for a second, studied how a gentle brush of wind had swayed a strand of her hair. “Must’ve been one heck of a place.”

Peggy nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, it was.” She moaned in agreement. Steve could only imagine the sights, the warmth and glow of the city drawing him in well into the night. “The lights were to die for. Paris had captured me with her beauty. Seems like you are, too. Or is it the other way around with you and your sketch?” he found her, leaning toward him. She was glancing at the card and his free arm jerked forward, shielding her eyes from the unfinished sketch.

“Nuh-uh, can’t see it yet.” He said sternly, but his twinkled, his lips quirked upwards.

She scoffed, whatever argument that had formed in her mind had seemingly died out. Instead, she said, “That’s hardly fair, isn’t it?” her tone impeccably crisp and indignant.

An example of maturity and gracefulness, Steve stuck his tongue out at her, not unlike a twelve year-old. “Never said it was fair,” he retorted and Peggy threw her head back and clutched her stomach, laughing at the sight.

A small huff of air passed through his lips and he dabbed a few more shade to the sketch, his eyes lifted up to the Eiffel. “I suppose I’d give you that,” there was still laughter in her tone when, from the corner of the street, a middle-aged man passed by. 

Steve could clearly see the salt-and-pepper hair that trickled along the base of the hairline and the blue eyes that twinkled in the afternoon sun.

Out of nowhere, the voice of his mother played out in his head. The cold New York winters chilled at his skin despite the warmth the sun gave, her sleep-caked voice still replaying the dashing tales of a handsome brown-haired Irish soldier with blue eyes that mirrored his own. Steve grew up to the stories of this brave soldier, who took up arms to fight for what was right. It also was not lost to him how his father had been in the line pushing for the Soisson, in France, when he was exposed to the mustard gas that left him orphaned of a father.

The lightness in the atmosphere around him and Peggy had faded. A solemn air had took its place.

A hand was placed on his shoulder and Steve turned to face Peggy, her eyebrows scrunched up together. “What happened?” she still smiled at him, but he could tell that worry had seeped into her expression.

He waved it off, his attention going back to the card. “I don’t know. The guy reminded me of someone.”

"Who?"

"My dad."

Peggy’s shoulders sagged forward. She avoided his glance. He knew that she read his file, that the _S.S.R._ had investigated every aspect of his life that might have contributed to the success of Doctor Erskine's serum on him. Steve knew that Peggy had also read about his father. “Oh,” she said, falling silent once more.

“You know, my dad, he served. 107th, too. And wherever he was stationed, he’d bring back a postcard. Ma’s kept them all and whenever I’d look at them, I’d promise myself to visit these places when I get the chance, you know? To travel the world.”

Steve placed the card down, for a moment. “That must have been lovely.” The sincerity in Peggy’s voice had been unexpected. He looked up at her and tried to school his features, but it was useless—the softness of her voice had been a force strong enough to punch the air out of his lungs.

The words he had been prepared to say were lost. He gaped at her like a fish, his eyes wide for a long moment until he leaned back into the bench. “It was. And the pictures were nice, but I couldn’t help but feel like, you know, they lacked something.”

“Something like?” she trailed off expectantly.

Steve glanced at the paper and when he saw the rough, but clear sketch of Peggy, smiling and beaming with the Eiffel proudly sketched in the corner, it felt right. “Heart. It lacked heart.” His heart, he wanted to say, but the image of Peggy in his card was enough.

Peggy raised her eyebrow at him quizzically. “So, is that your goal? To give the Eiffel justice? By adding heart?” her tone was lighter again.

He shrugged and gazed at the Eiffel, its iron bars looking though as one. “Something like this?” he whispered, his voice gone soft. “You can never really give it justice—you give it heart, a personality. You capture it with the emotion you're feeling when you finally find that right angle.”

She nodded appreciatively and hummed her approval, still blissfully— _and thankfully_ —unaware of him sneaking glances. “Well, I’d like to see your iteration, as well as your work with the other sights.” Steve froze, for a moment, and his mind flashed throughout the war. He had been to Germany, London, Paris, the outskirts of Austria, and about a dozen more places.

He had made quick sketches of them, and the thought of adding Peggy in seemed swell.

“Can I see it now, Captain?” her voice jarred him back to reality. Peggy leaned in forward, her chin held up as she tried to get a better look at the paper.

He held it close to his chest, an idea cemented at his mind, and an unspoken promise made to her.

“It’s not yet ready,” he stressed, pressing the paper close to her chest. When Peggy eased back to her spot on the bench, Steve hurriedly deposited the card back into the pouch, careful as to not let her sneak a look at the sketch, ideas now rampant in his mind. “You’ll see it when it’s ready. Besides, it’s part of a set.”

His mind flashed a million scenes. His lips tugged upwards when he remembered how Peggy had looked on after he had jumped off the plane in Austria, her hair flying everywhere but she still looked like a million bucks. He could feel his nerves wired, itching to grab another card and sketch that night over Austria.

“One day,” he promised, with all the solemnity he could muster, and the willed himself with the determination to make good on his promise, because Peggy Carter is a woman who deserves much more than empty words. “After the war, I’ll show you the postcards." Feeling exceptionally braver, he gave her a cheeky smile and lolled his head to a side, nudging her shoulder with his. "And you've got to give me something in return, too.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed him back to his spot. “You drive a hard bargain." Then, all of a sudden, her face brightened. "A deal, then. Show me the postcards, and I’ll take you out for dancing, yes?” there was a tell to her smile, a mischievous glint in her eyes that told him she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

"You know," he began and instead of refusing or accepting, he gave her a knowing look. “That’s not such a good idea for your toes.”

She waved him off nonchalantly. “I’ll be the judge of that, Captain Rogers. So, do we have a deal?” she held her hand out and she stared at him, her eyes narrowed playfully, telling him to shake at the deal if he dared.

Steve wanted to call her out, unsure of whatever scheme she’s trying to pull off, but he found himself thrusting his hand right at her, too, sealing the deal with a shake.

“You got it, Agent Carter.”


End file.
